


Reap What You Sow

by singingwithoutwords



Series: A Life in Garden Metaphors [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bot Feels, Bot Love, Flashbacks, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingwithoutwords/pseuds/singingwithoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is never, ever drinking again.  Or flirting.  Or riding in a limo.  Or leaving his workshop unless it's life-or-death for someone other than him, because honestly?  Death's starting to look like a pretty good out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Keep Me Safe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuthorInDistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorInDistress/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Guess This Is Our Reward](https://archiveofourown.org/works/806356) by [AuthorInDistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorInDistress/pseuds/AuthorInDistress). 



“ _Lights!_ ”

The workshop flooded with light, burning away the lingering afterimages of jumbled nightmares and memories until all that was left was Tony, shaking and on the verge of being violently sick. Again.

A soft whir at his elbow made him jump and flinch, which made You pull back slightly, splashing water over the rim of the glass he was carrying.

“You,” Tony said, tension subsiding in a rush. “Thanks, buddy.” He took the glass carefully, tested it with his tongue to make sure yeah, it was just water, then downed the entire thing in one breath.

“Sir, it might not be wise to drink so fast,” Jarvis said, his voice gentle and concerned.

“M'fine,” Tony assured him, reaching out and patting You's strut. “I'm fine. I'm safe. You guys'll keep me safe.”

You raised and lowered his claw in a clear imitation of a nod. Tony laughed the smallest, shakiest laugh he'd ever heard come out of his mouth, setting down the glass only to have Dummy shove a full one under his nose.

“Yeah, you'll keep me safe.”

He should have felt crowded, pressed into the couch with bots vying for attention, Jarvis everywhere around him. And maybe he did, but it was a _good_ crowding, a crowding that made him feel... protected. Not a cage, but a fortress. A shield made up of his creations, that couldn't turn into a sword and turn on him.

“If I may, sir,” Jarvis spoke up after a few more minutes and a third glass of water. “This appears to be more than the lingering affects of intense drinking.”

Tony stiffened again, gripping the glass in his hand so tight he was kind of surprised it didn't crack. “Don't,” he said, in a shaky, panicked voice he barely recognized as his own. “Please don't, J.”

“Very well, sir.”

Jarvis at least listened to him. Stopped when he said no. Didn't force him, didn't ignore him and take, just take what he wanted and leave Tony a wreck and tell him it was an improvement, didn't- didn't-

He dropped the glass and lurched forward, off the couch. There wasn't much left in his stomach, just water and bile, but apparently he couldn't even keep _that_ down. Butterfingers was waiting with a wastebasket, a solid one this time instead of the mesh one, so at least there wouldn't be much of a mess to clean up.

Dummy plucked at the shoulder of his shirt, whirring softly, and Tony just plain wasn't together enough to comfort him. He couldn't even convince _himself_ he was okay, and his bots knew him better than he knew himself.

Once he was done heaving his guts, Butterfingers set aside the wastebasket and wheeled over to the nearest workbench, sorting through the junk on it and coming back with a screwdriver. Tony took it. Having something to hold steadied his trembling hands, just a little.

You brought him part of a discarded repulsor casing, and Dummy tried his best to wrap the blanket from the couch around his shoulders. Tony just sat there for several long minutes, telling them over and over how good they were and how proud he was of them. Jarvis didn't speak, but Tony knew he was there, watching over them. His creations, his babies. They would never turn on him.

“I love you guys. You know that, right?”

“Believe me, sir, they do.”

Tony found it in him to smile. “What's with this 'they' shit, Jarvis?” he asked, absently fingering the bent casing. “You're included in that.”

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis replied, and Tony could hear the warmth in his voice. “You should attempt to sleep again. Shall I keep the lights on this time?”

“Please.” God, he loved Jarvis. Jarvis needed a body so Tony could just hug the shit out of him. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Any time, sir. Good night.”

 

* * *

 

He managed to sleep for an hour or so before the nightmares came back, sent him to his knees over the wastebasket again, heaving nothing but empty air because that was all he had left in him by that point. No substance at all, just a ball of agony where he normally had a stomach, to match everything else that hurt and burned.

You brought him water, and he forced himself to drink it, because who the fuck could stand to disappoint that face? Okay, the bots didn't technically _have_ faces, but whatever. Tony couldn't. If drinking water made You happy, he'd drink some fucking water.

Butterfingers brought a second glass, and Tony didn't think to check, he was always so fucking careless, that's how he got himself into these messes, and he panicked as soon as the vodka hit his tongue: threw the glass as hard as he could, listened to it shatter against the wall, watched pinpricks of reflected light scatter like stars across the floor.

“Sir,” Jarvis said, and he sounded so fucking _worried_. “What can I do?”

“Where- my booze. My stash, where'd I-”

“The cabinet to the left of the fabricators, sir.”

Tony turned, and sure enough, the cabinet was open. Butterfingers must've defaulted to booze because his creator was a fucking lush who solved all his problems by crawling into a bottle.

He hurried to the cabinet, barefoot through a field of fake stars, and grabbed the first bottle that came to hand. 40-year-old Scotch. Threw it over his shoulder, adding brown to the clear glass already there. Whiskey, vodka, sherry, more scotch, was he trying to _kill himself_ here? The cabinet was bolted to the floor and wall, or he'd have just dumped the whole thing over. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of bad decisions and mistakes just waiting to happen, and he had to pull them all out one by one and fucking _look_ at them.

Glass crunched behind him under treads, and You reached over his shoulder, lifting a bottle of bourbon, turning and releasing it over the floor.

“Sir, please stop.” No condescension, no sarcasm or verbal eye-rolling. “You've already injured yourself.”

“I have to get rid of it,” Tony said, reaching for another bottle. The cabinet was only half empty- how much booze did he think he needed? “This never would've- they- if I'd been fucking _sober_ , they-” his voice broke painfully, splintering into a harsh sob. The fuck was he crying for? It wasn't like it would do any good- nobody gave a fuck if he was crying, did they?

He stumbled back and would have fallen, except Butterfingers was there to catch him, to hold him up, claw hanging nearly to the floor.

“Not your fault, buddy,” Tony found the breath to say between violent sobs, wrapping his arms around Butterfingers' strut, hugging him close. “M'sorry, so sorry, sorry m'such a fuck-up, sorry...”

Butterfingers whirred softly, crowding against Tony and gently guiding him around the glass in a weird machine-and-stupid-fuck-up dance until he was back at the couch. Glass was still breaking in the background, his expensive alcohol soaking the floor, trickling down the drains. You was such a good bot.

Between them, Butterfingers and Dummy got him back on the couch, clumsily wrapped in the blanket, still shaking like a leaf, then Dummy went to help You. Butterfingers almost went, but Tony was pathetic enough to reach out and grab his claw and blurt, “Don't leave!”, and he stayed.

And that... yeah, anyone else would look at Butterfingers and write him off as a machine with no mind or emotion, but Tony knew better, and he knew Butterfingers was only staying because he knew Tony _needed_  him to. And he was so, so fucking grateful for that, because if even his team couldn't be trusted, could just use him and not give a fuck, if that was all he was worth to humans, he'd rather have bots.

After more than an hour, after glass stopped breaking and Dummy had gotten out his broom, still clinging to Butterfingers like he might drown if he let go, Tony managed somehow to fall asleep once more.


	2. I Used to be Good at This

Tony hadn't ordered a lockdown. He hadn't had to. That first night, when he'd crawled onto the couch still covered in bodily fluid and curled up in a miserable shivering ball, Jarvis had done it for him. No one in, no matter what, because Jarvis was a goddamn work of art and a person in his own right, and he didn't have to pay attention to override codes unless he damned well felt like it.

“J, have I told you today that you're an angel?” Tony asked, looking up from the whatever-the-fuck he was working on so he didn't have to think or remember.

“I admit, sir, that is a new one,” Jarvis said, and there was so much fondness in his voice. More than Tony could recall from any human being, bar maybe a few. “You have called me a saint twice today, a god once, and the love of your life when you woke up the second time this morning.”

“Are you sure about that marriage proposal?” he asked, because he could joke with Jarvis and not be misunderstood. “You were made for me. Literally. Made _by_ me, too.”

“I wouldn't do that to Miss Potts, sir,” Jarvis answered with what was definitely a hint of laughter. “She's called again- that is the fifth in the last two hours. I believe she may be worried.”

Tony looked down at the workbench and the jumble of circuitry he was piecing into something magnificent, and sighed. He owed Pepper. No matter how drunk he'd gotten, she'd never done... _that_. Never. She'd never done what she apparently had every right to do when he got smashed and drooled all over her. Never would, and he owed her for that.

“Next time she calls, pick up.”

“Understood, sir.”

A beep to his left, and Dummy slid up beside him. They were already learning not to sneak up on him, to let him know they were behind him or just outside his field of vision.

“Good boy,” Tony praised him, patting his claw. “Good boy. Did you bring me more coffee?”

“You should attempt to eat something first, sir.”

“Out of the question.”

Tony had never stocked much in the way of food in here. He never overnighted in the workshop unless he was actually working on something, so all he had was energy bars, and he was down to two of those. In the past week, he'd eaten the other six and thrown up all but one immediately afterward. He still felt queasy, and he had to make those bars last.

“You need to eat, sir,” Jarvis said gently. “We don't have a recharge station for you.”

Dummy whirred agreement, and Tony found it in himself to laugh, just a little.

“Perhaps you could- pardon, sir, but Miss Potts is calling. Shall I answer?”

“Put her through,” Tony said, bending over his work again, relieved beyond words that Pepper couldn't see him through the phone. “Hey, Pep.”

“Tony, thank God,” Pepper said, with that adorable note of exasperation in her voice that she saved just for him. “I was beginning to think you were dead.”

“Not quite,” Tony said with a shrug, biting back the 'wish I was' that tried to crawl its way out of him. “What's up?”

“You missed the progress meeting for R&D yesterday.”

“I thought that was tomorrow,” Tony lied, because if he apologized, she'd _know_ something was wrong. “Whatever, I'll go to the next one. Or just have the next one here. I have a very cozy workshop, even if it is kinda devoid of attractive CEOs at the moment, maybe you should drop by, cut your trip to sunny California short-”

“Dr. Banner called.”

Tony jerked reflexively at the name, screwdriver skidding across delicate soldering and destroying at least an hour's work. “Did he, now?” And fuck, that sounded strained even to him. He used to be good at pretending to be okay.

“Your team's worried, Tony,” she said. “You should let them know you're alive, at least. Why don't you eat dinner with them tonight?”

“No!” Was that panic in his voice? Hell yes, it was. He was panicking, and he couldn't do that, because then she'd ask why, and he'd tell her, and she'd _know_ , and then... “I'm not talking to them right now,” he attempted. He'd never had to attempt this before, it had always come naturally. “They're a bunch of meanies.”

“Tony...” And yep, there went the voice. The one that said she knew he was hiding something and was hurt he wouldn't confide in her.

“Maybe, okay?” he tried desperately, because Rhodey was wrong and no didn't mean no, at least not when he said it. “I'm busy right now, I've got food down here. I'll leave my pillow fort and play nice with the other kids once I'm done, okay?”

“Okay, Tony,” Pepper said in her sweet, gentle, best-not-to-startle-the-twitchy-genius voice. She had so many great voices. “Try to sleep at some point in the next 48 hours? For me?”

“Anything for you,” Tony promised, and he meant it. With all he owed her, everything she put up with and let slide, just the fact that she stayed, there was nothing he wouldn't do, if he could, to make her happy.

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

The joke, so old and worn that it slipped between them like fine silk, made him smile. “That'll be all, Miss Potts.”

Jarvis never made him listen to dial tones, but he could still tell when the call officially ended. As soon as it did, he carefully set down the screwdriver and sank onto the nearest seat, slumping over the table.

“Sir,” Jarvis spoke after a long minute or ten. “You can request Miss Potts return early. I'm certain she would be glad to.”

“She has more important shit to worry about right now,” Tony said. “I'll be fine.”

He still hadn't told Jarvis. He told Jarvis everything. Jarvis had been the only soul he'd told when he was _dying_ , and he couldn't bear to tell him about this. About how badly he'd managed to fuck up and why he freaked out just a tiny bit whenever Steve came down and asked to be let in. Why there was a waste bin full of broken glass and nothing to drink but water and coffee. Jarvis had a mind, had free will, and if Tony told him...

He'd just have to keep it to himself.

“Do me a favor, J. Let me know when the whole team leaves. I'll go grab some food then. Deal?”

“Of course, sir.”

And then, because life fucking hated him, the alarm to assemble went off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind comments on the first chapter, everyone. This story is... megahard to write. Seriously. The comments help.


	3. You've Got Me

“Armor.”

“Sir, I don't think-”

“ _Armor_ , J,” Tony snapped. “Now.”

“Sir, you are in no condition to pilot the suit,” Jarvis protested. “There is a 47% chance you will unintentionally do yourself serious harm.”

“Iron Man doesn't get to take a day off because he feels like shit,” Tony said, balling his hands into fists and planting them on the workbench surface to hide how they were shaking. “Now prep the fucking suit before I go without it.”

There was a long moment of silence during which Tony knew Jarvis was studying him, taking in all the signs of _fuck I'm having a panic attack fuck fuck fuck_ he was trying desperately to lock down.

_Stark men are made of iron. Stark men are made of iron. Stark men are made of iron. Stark men-_

“Very well, sir,” Jarvis said finally. “On one condition- you agree to allow the Broken Sword Protocol if I feel it's needed.”

“Yes,” Tony agreed readily. Broken Sword would let Jarvis invade the suit, take over all its functions, get him out and away if he couldn't manage it himself, and how could he possibly ask for that? But Jarvis always knew just what he needed, didn't he? “God, I love you. I mean that. Suit.”

Jarvis listened this time, let him suit up without comment, and the heavy exoskeleton kept the tremors running through his entire body from being visible, at least. Jarvis would be plugged into the diagnostics system, watching his vitals, and had to see how they were spiking, but he didn't say anything.

“Alright,” Tony said, taking a deep breath and trying to remind himself that he was safe in the suit. “Gimme the short and sweet version while I'm _en route_.”

“It appears to be an escaped experiment of some sort, sir,” Jarvis informed him, calm as ever. Tony drew what strength he could from that. “There are four, and what visuals SHIELD has provided show them to be roughly three meters long and resembling bright red rodents.”

“Lovely.” Giant red mice. He could deal with that. Not the weirdest thing he'd seen since hooking up with the team, they might be able to handle it without him, maybe he could go back...

“Sir, Captain America is attempting to contact you,” Jarvis said. “Shall I fabricate an issue with communications?”

If not for Jarvis, Tony might have fallen right out of the sky. As it was, the AI had to slip in and take control of the thrusters to keep him airborne. God. Cap. Steve. Mister Running With The Commandos Wasn't Innocent, in-fucking-deed. He hadn't spoken to him – to any of them – since that night, and just hearing his name had Tony freezing up, wanting to find a way to dematerialize and vanish completely.

“No.” He had to be able to communicate with the team in order to keep civilian casualties to a minimum, to wrap this up fast so he could go back to hiding. “No, let... l-let him through.” He had to stop being such a pussy and do his fucking job. Steve couldn't do anything just by talking at him.

“ _Iron Man, where are you?_ ”Steve demanded, and Tony had to fight the urge to rip off his helmet and throw it as hard as he could, just to get that voice away from him. _“We're having a bit of trouble here, and we could really use your help.”_

“On my way,” Tony said shortly. The less he spoke, the better. They seemed to prefer him quiet, so he'd be silent as the grave to keep them happy. “J?”

“I'm here, sir,” Jarvis assured him. “I have Broken Sword on standby.”

“Thanks.” He would have smiled, if he weren't so preoccupied with not breaking down in hysterical sobs.

The rest of the way-too-short flight to Long Island passed in silence. Tony didn't greet the team, and none of them greeted him, because they were a bit tied up fighting ten-foot rats with teeth to match. With the exception of Clint, they were all going hand-to-hand. Judging by the number of arrows sticking out of all four rats, he wasn't being all that annoying to the things.

“Status?” Tony asked, trying to force himself so deep into battle and strategy that he didn't have to focus on who he happened to be fighting with.

“ _They're armored,_ ” Clint said. “ _Bullets don't even penetrate, and nothing I'm doing is going deep enough to have much affect. These things are tougher than Hulk, and stupider than real rats._ ”

Tony almost informed him that rats happened to be pretty damn intelligent, fuck you very much, but he doubted he could keep his voice steady for a sentence that long. If he'd learned one thing from his dad, it was to never show weakness unless you wanted to get eaten alive. Not that any of them had done any eating, that had been all him, which was even worse, really, when you thought about it, and _dammit, Stark, fucking focus!_

“Got it,” he managed to get past the way his throat wanted to not work, targeting the nearest beast with a full-strength blast from his left glove.

The suit kept him from smelling burnt fur, but he could tell he'd done some damage, at least. There was a nice circle of charred muscle and skin on the thing's back, along with a small sparking wire.

“J, do me a favor and get me energy output readings,” Tony requested. If he just pretended no one else was there, he could get through this. Maybe if he just pretended he was talking to himself... “It looks from here like the armor's wired into the things.”

“ _Would explain how it keeps shifting,_ ” Natasha said, breaking through the illusion of being alone he hadn't even had a chance to build yet. “ _Iron Man, can you give me a lift to Hawkeye's location?_ ”

His chest felt unbearably tight and if his lungs were working at all, he couldn't tell. Go _near_ her, let her _touch_ him, let her get real close so she could study the armor, figure out how to crack it open and peel him out so she could-

“Sir.”

“I'm fine,” he said on a private band, to no one but Jarvis. “Just... stay with me.”

If not for the suit, he would've been shaking like a leaf in a tornado by the time he landed next to Natasha, who slipped her arms around his waist with a predatory smile, and her touch burned even through the layers of alloy. It took everything he had, every scrap of his badly flagging courage, to hook an arm around her before blasting off again.

Thank God Clint's chosen perch wasn't all that far away. It took only seconds to get to him and let go of Natasha, and he really needed to clean the armor where she'd touched it, because it still burned there.

“Thanks,” Natasha purred, and Tony was not ashamed to admit that taking off was running away. As long as he wasn't near her, or any of them, he could do this.

“Sir, your heartrate is spiking,” Jarvis noted softly. “Please take a deep breath, and remember I'm here.”

“Got it, J.” He obediently inhaled and held it for a second. He was sweating like a race horse, and his breath was coming too short. He needed to calm down. Jarvis had him. “Got those numbers for me yet?”

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis said, still projecting calm. “You were correct- the armor is definitely wired directly into their nervous systems. Whoever cobbled them together did so in the crudest, most haphazard way possible- the pain they are in must be immense.”

Tony took another deep breath and switched back to the open band. “Hawkeye, EMP,” he said, as if he wasn't telling someone he could no longer trust to use the one weapon in his arsenal that could harm the suit, leave him vulnerable if he was caught in the blast radius.

“ _Got it, tin can,”_ Clint said cheerfully. _“Time to short out some TVs, I guess. Cap, I'm aiming for the damaged one- warn Hulk.”_

“ _Done. We're clear, go ahead and fire. Iron Man, penetrate the others? Lightning didn't work, so they probably have some kind of shield in the armor itself._ ”

Tony didn't answer, just turned on the nearest one. He felt kind of sorry for the beasts, to be honest- if someone was going to turn their experiments into living tanks, they should at least do it so the things weren't hurting from it.

“ _You're awful quiet today, Iron Man,_ ” Clint said suddenly. “ _You're not still worn out, are you?_ ”

“ _Maybe he's just being a good boy so we'll play with him again,_ ” Natasha suggested with a laugh that was echoed back twice, in deeper tones.

“ _Save that kind of chatter for after the battle, guys,_ ” Steve said, because he wasn't innocent and had mentioned a next time.

Tony didn't even realize he'd stopped moving, that he'd completely blanked on where he was and what he was doing, until he felt the thudding impact of an armored tail across his chestpiece. He couldn't remember how the thrusters worked for a second as his ribs and the reactor exploded in agony, and he would have gone right through the nearest building, except Hulk caught him, and the panic he'd been holding just below the surface exploded.

Hulk was Bruce without the inhibitions, and he knew what kind of heat Bruce was packing now, and if everything grew proportionately during the transformation... he couldn't take that. He literally, physically, was incapable of accommodating something that huge. It would rip him apart- again, literally. It would kill him, and the suit was next to useless against Hulk, Hulk could rip it apart with his bare hands, he didn't stand a chance, and even if he survived physically, he just- he couldn't- he- he-

The suit moved without him, twisting and pulling away from Hulk, taking to the air.

“I've initiated the Broken Sword Protocol,” Jarvis whispered in his ear, and Tony didn't even bother fighting a broken sob of relief, pulling back into himself and letting Jarvis take command. “You're safe, Tony- I have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at action scenes, okay?
> 
> Long chapter is long because it was originally going to be two chapters, but it just didn't flow right until I combined them.


	4. My Fault

Tony came back to himself in the workshop, to the sharp digging pain of the assembly rig prying armor off his chest and a chorus of worried beeps and whirs from just outside the narrow tunnel his vision had shrunk to.

“J?” he called, voice shaky and uncertain. “J, talk to me. Please?”

“I'm here,” Jarvis said, full of barely-controlled anger. “You have deep bruising along your chest cavity, but your ribs are intact and I can't detect damage to any internal organs. The arc reactor is functioning normally.”

“The fight?” Tony asked. “Th-the team?”

“They will survive,” Jarvis said shortly. “Though not due to _my_ intervention.”

“Okay, so they didn't need me,” Tony said as the rig peeled the last of the armor away. He ran a hand through sweat-sodden hair and stumbled forward, into Dummy, who held him up with a soft beep. “Thanks. They didn't need me and the suit was damaged, that means they can't be mad at me, right?” he asked. “They- the suit's damaged, I need to fix it, they can't blame that on me, right? I n-need to fix it. That's acceptable. That's- right? That's acceptable, right, J?”

“Whether or not it is acceptable is irrelevant, sir,” Jarvis informed him. “I don't plan to allow your alleged _team_ back into this tower, let alone near enough to harm you.”

“But... they live here,” Tony protested over a bright wave of relief that had him sliding to the floor with a solid thump, one hand landing on Dummy's base. “They... they'd never... h-hurt me. Th-they're the good guys. J...”

“Sir, you personally programmed me as intelligent enough to keep pace with yourself,” Jarvis reminded him. “I am not stupid. It's alright to be afraid of them.”

Tony bit his lip. Hard. Hard enough he tasted blood. He wasn't allowed to be afraid. He wasn't a pussy, not a special snowflake who could get by being a coward. “Don't... it's their home.” They'd be pissed at him if he got them locked out of their own home. “Let them in. Just not in the workshop, okay?”

There was a long moment of silence, and Jarvis still sounded on the verge of exploding. “I've returned access to them. For now. But I will not be held responsible for my actions should they attempt to come near you.”

Tony smiled weakly. “Thanks, J. That... means a lot.” He debated getting up, but he was still shaking, and even if he managed to stand, he doubted he'd stay that way for long. “I'm gonna stay here a while, okay?”

You immediately snagged the blanket off the couch, dragging it across the workshop and across Tony's lap, fussing with it while Butterfingers decided to grab one of the couch cushions and bring it over. Between the two bots, they got him situated semi-comfortably, leaning against the cushion, which was leaning against Dummy, curled up under the blanket.

Safe.

Tony closed his eyes, managing to relax, just a bit. Dummy bent his strut, claw carefully carding through Tony's hair, helping him relax a bit more. “J?”

“Yes, sir?”

Tony curled up tighter, burying his face in the blanket. “You're still in the comms.” Not a question, because he knew Jarvis would be.

“I don't think you need – or want, or deserve – to hear,” Jarvis said.

“I need to.” He needed to know how mad they were, how low their opinion of him had sunk, what they planned to do. “Forewarned is forearmed, Jarvis. Let me hear?” And that was definitely a question.

Tony could swear Jarvis managed, despite a complete lack of respiratory system or mouth, to sigh. “Just remember that they are wrong, sir,” he said at length, opening the band and giving Tony what he asked for.

“ _-ave fucking died!_ ” Clint yelled, and Tony flinched involuntarily away from the sound. “ _When we get back I'm gonna fucking kill him!_ ”

“ _He did take a hit,_ ” Steve said, sounding like he'd not only said it before, but didn't really believe his own hype. _“Maybe the suit was too damaged to stay?”_

“ _His comm is not in his chest,_ ” Natasha snapped. Her voice sounded breathy, edged with pain. _“But no one is killing him until I heal enough to do it myself.”_

“ _I believe that to be fitting and fair,”_ Thor. Shit. Even Thor was pissed at him.

“ _There has to be some reason,_ ” Steve spoke again. He still wasn't convincing himself. _“Something has to be wrong, for him to take off like that.”_

“ _I'll tell you what's wrong,_ ” Clint spat. Tony could feel his anger from here. “ _We let him fuck us, that's what's wrong. He had his fun, why should he give a fuck about us now?_ ”

“ _Clint, that-_ ”

“ _Don't tell me you didn't notice how he ignored us like we were nothing as soon as we gave him what he wanted,”_ Clint kept ranting, steamrolling right over Steve. “ _And all fucking week he's been hiding in his workshop pretending we don't exist. He can't even be fucked to come to team meetings anymore, and those were his idea!_ ”

There was a short pause in conversation, during which Tony could hear the indecipherable murmur of someone speaking near one of them, but not actually into a comm. He'd been halfway done with a comm that Bruce could wear and not lose when he Hulked out- guess he had no reason to finish it now.

“ _In case you didn't notice, Doc, Nat has a **broken leg**! And she's damned lucky that's all that got broke! I'm gonna wring his fucking neck the next time I-_ ”

Jarvis cut the feed, but Tony barely heard, pulling the blanket over his head and biting hard on his knuckles, trying vainly to keep from crying. So that was what they thought of him. And Natasha's leg was broken, and it was his fault. They were going to fuck him up good now. They weren't going to be so nice this time. He was dead.

One of the bots tugged at the blanket. The claw that maneuvered its way under the edge belonged to Butterfingers. It grasped his hand carefully, not pulling on him. Just... holding hands. Trying to comfort him.

“I remind you, sir: they are wrong, and I will not allow them to harm you,” Jarvis said with a note of dead finality. “ _You are safe_.”

Tony nodded. He couldn't speak, could barely breathe while he fought down helpless sobs. Dummy managed to move the blanket enough to go back to running his claw through Tony's hair, and You hovered over him protectively.

“L-lockd-down?”

“Engaged the moment you returned.”

“O...okay.”

No one could see him. No one would know that he broke down, clinging to Butterfingers and wailing like a stupid kid. Jarvis would keep it secret, like he kept all his secrets.

He wasn't safe, but at least he was hidden. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I could make myself hate the team. ;-;


	5. I'm Allowed to Say No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Milestones on AO3 this fic has broken so far:
> 
> 400 kudos  
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> You guys are just... you're so awesome.

The team made it back to the Tower in less than 30 minutes. Jarvis informed him as soon as they stepped inside, and Tony wasn't ashamed of how he tried to melt into Dummy's base, tense and waiting for them to come for him.

“Tony,” Jarvis said quietly after what felt like an eternity. “Captain America is approaching the workshop. He will not get in.”

Tony nodded dumbly, holding Butterfingers' claw tighter, barely feeling the way the metal dug into his skin. He knew how much stress the walls could handle. If Steve really wanted in, he was getting in.

Butterfingers whirred at him, claw flexing. If Steve got in... Jarvis was safe, his processors were buried so deep that he'd have to literally tear apart the entire level in order to get to him, but the bots...

“You guys need to recharge,” he said. For once, his voice didn't break or waver. He sat up, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. “Go.”

All three of them hesitated, shifting on their treads.

“Go. I'm fine.” He tried to smile for them. It felt plastic and fake. “Go.”

The walls were soundproofed, the windows blacked out, but the doors shivered faintly.

“J, make them go!”

“Tony...”

“He can't hurt them, J!” Tony exclaimed, shaking more than the door at just the thought. “Please, get them away from me!”

God, he was going to cry, bawl like a baby, Steve was going to get in and see him and he'd be done, because no one wanted a fuckbuddy who couldn't handle a little fucking and what else could they want out of him when they believed that was all he wanted from them?

With a last forlorn beep and a claw ghosting over his shoulder, the bots finally moved away, toward their charging stations, where they might be safe from Steve's wrath.

The doors shuddered once. Again. Again.

Then, nothing.

“I've neutralized Captain America, sir,” Jarvis said, managing to sound smug and apologetic at the same time.

“What? Did you- J, tell me you didn't-”

“Merely unconscious, sir. A powerful sedative at a high concentration. It will keep him under more than long enough for your visitor to reach the workshop.”

“Visitor? J, no, no visitors, no one in, that's what lockdown means, J, you can't just... just...”

“Tony, why is Captain America passed out in your hallway?”

Tony wanted to be angry, he really did. He wanted to be angry at Jarvis for letting Rhodey in, at Rhodey for coming in, at himself for making a stupid door that didn't make noise so Pepper could come in without interrupting his work, but all he could feel was the overwhelming relief that always accompanied a Rhodey in times of trouble. Rhodey had already seen the absolute worst he could be, stood by him through the years before Iron Man, been his friend, held him together and cleaned him up when he spent midterm mornings bent over a toilet puking his guts. If Rhodey didn't already hate him, this wouldn't change that.

“Tony?” Rhodey asked, setting down what looked and smelled suspiciously like pizza and dropping to one knee in front of Tony, far away enough that he didn't feel crowded or trapped. “Buddy, you look like shit.”

Tony huffed a small laugh, completely genuine. “Funny,” he said. “I _feel_ like shit.”

“Pepper called my SO and browbeat him into letting me come check on you, you know. Are you sure she's not planning on taking over the world?”

Tony smiled. Rhodey could always get a smile out of him. Blistered and burned under the desert sun, shitfaced and still wearing the suit from his parents' funeral, fifteen and wearing some stranger's too-big sweatshirt because his own clothes were long gone.

“You were wrong, you know,” Tony said, forcing himself to hold that smile, to make a joke of everything like he always did.

“What, you don't want pizza? I'll go get something else.” Nothing Tony said or did surprised Rhodey. That was why he was such a great friend.

“Before. You were wrong before,” he clarified. The smile felt painful. “No doesn't mean no.” That was as close to a confession as he could come, the most vulnerable he could make himself after so many years of bottling everything and not letting anything slip past his masks.

Rhodey sat back on his heels and took four deep, careful breaths. “JARVIS, is Captain Rogers still in the hallway?”

“Yes, Colonel,”

“Good,” Rhodey said, standing and dusting off his slacks. “I need to kill him.”

“Regrettably, Colonel, he is already waking up,” Jarvis reported. “And sir needs you at the moment.”

Rhodey stared at the door, and Tony could just _hear_ him weighing his desire to beat the crap out of his childhood hero against staying with Tony, and Tony almost told him not to worry about it, but if the walls didn't stand a chance against Steve, neither did Rhodey.

“Fine, but get him the fuck away from Tony,” Rhodey said at length. “Come on, buddy- let's get you cleaned up and full of pizza, okay?”

Tony nodded, letting Rhodey drag him to his feet. The workshop had a small bathroom with a shower, and it wouldn't be the first time Rhodey had manhandled him through getting presentable. Not that he needed to be presentable, since he was never leaving the workshop again. He could stay in here and Rhodey could bring him pizza. He could live like that.

“JARVIS, what's Rogers doing?” Rhodey asked, stripping off the shirt Tony had been wearing for... how many days now? He couldn't remember.

“He has returned to his quarters,” Jarvis said. “I have taken the liberty of locking him in. The others as well.”

“So it wasn't just Rogers?” Rhodey stripped him down to skin and glowy metal, and Tony didn't care. Rhodey would never do anything to hurt him. He'd learned that decades ago, and it was so deeply ingrained into his subconscious that nothing could shake it.

“I gathered from open band conversation that the entire team was involved.”

“I really screwed up, huh?” Tony asked. He felt the urge to cry steal over him again, and he didn't fight it, because this was Rhodey. “God. They're gonna kick me off the team now. What do I do, Honey Bear?”

“You didn't do anything wrong, Tones,” Rhodey said gently, getting him into the shower and turning the water on, blessedly hot. Tony stood under it, eyes closed, and let the tears get lost in the spray. “And I'm gonna make damned sure they regret hurting you.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Rhodey reached around him, grabbing the shampoo. “Tilt your head back and let me wash that grease mop you call a head of hair, will you? We'll deal with those assholes later.”

Tony obediently tipped his head back, letting the feel of Rhodey's blunt fingers and carefully trimmed nails against his scalp soothe him. It was like college all over again, the dorm showers and not giving a fuck about the whispers, because Rhodey knew that no meant no, and that Tony was allowed to say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we begin the part where Tony has people in his corner and the team can finally see just how very wrong they were and still are.


	6. I Can Do This

Rhodey got him clean and into a pair of old sweats, then sat him down on the couch and took care of his chest. Tony stayed still and limp, on the verge of dozing off. He could sleep with Rhodey here. Rhodey wouldn't wander off and let him wake up alone when the inevitable nightmare hit, and he was so damned tired.

“Still with me, Tones?” Rhodey asked, carefully cleaning a bit of grease from the edge of the arc reactor. Anyone else, anyone but Rhodey or Pepper, would never have been allowed so close to his heart, never get the chance to rip it out and leave him to die.

Tony nodded, not wanting to speak. That would take effort. And energy.

“You need to eat something,” Rhodey told him. “Pizza first, then you sleep. Deal?”

Tony nodded again.

“Good boy.” Rhodey ruffled his hair and stood just long enough to snag the pizza box, then settled back on the couch. “Can you feed yourself?”

Tony gave it serious consideration. Probably more than it warranted, but he got like that when he was exhausted, focusing all his attention on asinine details that he normally couldn't be bothered with.

“I'll take that as a no. Open your mouth.”

Rhodey hadn't fed him since Vanko, since the new reactor and a spy hiding in plain sight and _Tony Stark: not recommended_. He didn't need it often. He sometimes acted like a brat, yeah, but the times he really _needed_ to be cared for like a child were few and far between. That he could let his walls down and hang up his masks, just long enough to eat a slice or two of pizza... that was a godsend.

“Love you,” he said between bites, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Know that, right?”

“Yeah, Tony,” Rhodey said softly, tearing the crust into pieces and popping one in Tony's mouth. “I do. Gonna fall asleep on me?”

“Yep.” His stomach was fuller than it had been in days. He was showing skin, reactor on display, as close to completely open as he could be these days. He might manage a couple hours of rest now.

“Okay. Go ahead and sleep. I'm here.”

Tony nodded, slumping sideways until his head rested on Rhodey's shoulder, and slipped into blissful darkness.

 

* * *

 

Tony woke to the sound of low, familiar voices, Rhodey and someone else, a voice that sent him catapulting to full awareness faster than light, off the couch and behind it before he even managed to pin a name to it.

Rhodey broke off mid-word and turned, but he knew enough thank God not to try and go after him. “It's okay, Tones- you're safe.”

“How the fuck did he get in here?” Tony demanded, silently cursing the slight waver in his voice.

“Through the door,” Rhodey said, without being condescending or facetious at all. “He shut JARVIS down for about 40 seconds, but no one got out. You're still safe, I promise.”

“J!” The panic was back, slamming into the reactor like a physical blow.

“I'm fine, sir,” Jarvis responded immediately. “Forgive me; the Director's toy is a new one, and I was not fast enough to counter it.”

“And I explained to him why he isn't going to do that shit anymore,” Rhodey added. “It's okay. You can come out, Tony.”

Tony hesitated, gripping the couch to keep his hands steady. Fury wasn't Rhodey. He couldn't let Fury see him like this. He had to be iron around Fury.

“So,” he said once he thought he had control of his voice. He couldn't bring himself to actually look at Fury, so he kept his eyes glued to Rhodey's boots. “I'm off the team, right? Should I... sh-should I be flattered you came to inform me in person? That's- I can be flattered, okay, I'm officially kicked out, you can go now, I get it, just-”

“Stark.”

Tony jumped, really more of a very violent twitch, and bit his lip hard. He still couldn't look up. He didn't have enough masks on for this.

“I didn't come here to drop you from the team,” Fury said. “I came here to find out why your AI is holding my team hostage, and why no one can raise Barton.”

“Agent Barton is currently sleeping very peacefully in the ventilation shaft above his bedroom,” Jarvis offered helpfully. “He was attempting to leave his quarters, so I took appropriate action.”

Tony twitched again, glancing quickly toward the nearest vent.

“He didn't get here, Tony,” Rhodey reminded him, reaching over and laying a hand gently on his. “You're still safe.”

Tony nodded, trying not to shake too noticeably.

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?” Fury asked, and Tony shied away from the controlled anger in his voice.

“Tony?”

Tony shook his head quickly.

“Tony, look at me.”

Tony stiffened, but didn't resist when Rhodey gently tilted his chin up until their eyes met. “Tony, what does no mean?”

“It means no,” Tony answered automatically.

“And when you say no and someone doesn't stop, what do you do?”

“... Tell someone.” Entire frat houses had dedicated themselves to hating Rhodey once he managed to teach Tony that lesson, when they realized Tony wouldn't just let them do anything to him for the sake of their limited attention. That fucking Tony Stark when he didn't want them to suddenly had consequences.

“That's right,” Rhodey said encouragingly. “Do you think you can tell Director Fury what happened?”

Tony hesitated for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Stay?”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Rhodey promised, pulling him into a hug with the back of the couch between them, hiding Tony in his arms. “Wanna sit down?”

Tony let Rhodey lead him back around the couch. He sat without complaint, wrapping the blanket around himself again, bunched over the arc reactor to hide its glow. Fury stayed where he was, looming in a way that dredged up memories he wasn't prepared to deal with, and he shrank back slightly, into the corner, instinctively trying to hide.

“Well?”

Tony flinched; he couldn't help himself.

“You're obviously new to dealing with sufferers of recent trauma, Director,” Rhodey said calmly. “First rule: sit down and shut the fuck up.”

Tony had no idea how Rhodey did it, but Fury pulled a stool across the floor with a faint squeak of wheels and sat on it.

“Okay, Tones. Start at the beginning, and don't be afraid to stop if it's too much.”

Tony nodded, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He could do this. Rhodey wanted him to do this. “That party last week. Fundraiser. Good publicity. I was drunk. We all were. They were smashed, they probably didn't even realize. They've seen the videos. You can't blame them for thinking- it's not their fault. It's not. I was shitfaced and I- i-if I tease someone like that, I- I have to follow through, okay? I teased Clint, he had every right to... to...”

Rhodey growled, pulling Tony close. Tony wanted to push him away, to put up a strong front for Fury. Instead, he hid against Rhodey's chest like a coward.

“They've seen the videos,” he repeated, swallowing thickly, grimacing at the phantom taste of Bruce in his mouth, feeling a flash of Steve's teeth in his neck. “They've seen- I shouldn't've teased him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I can't. I'm sorry.”

Rhodey sighed, stroking his hair. “It's okay, Tony. You can stop.”

Tony nodded, relaxing bonelessly against Rhodey, helpless to stop a fresh bout of tears, not even caring anymore if Fury finally saw how truly pathetic he really was.


	7. I'm in Good Hands

It felt like lifetimes before Fury moved, or spoke, or fucking _breathed_ for all Tony knew. He was too exhausted, too emotionally and physically drained, to keep track of anything, even himself. Amazing what a week of hyperactive terror could do to a person's energy levels, and he obviously hadn't gotten near enough rest before Fury barged his way in and violated the one sanctuary Tony had left.

When he finally did move, it was a slight shift that barely made the stool creak, but it was enough to bring Tony's head up, zeroing in on the source of the noise and forcing himself not to show how very badly he was freaking the fuck out inside.

Fury looked pissed. He always looked pissed, and normally Tony found it kind of funny, but right now it scared him shitless and he wanted nothing more than to dig a hole in the lower basement and bury himself.

“I'm sorry,” he blurted, not even sure what he was apologizing for, just that the silence was unbearable and when shit went wrong it was usually his fault, anyway. “I'm sorry. I fucked up, I know, I'm sorry, I-”

“Why the hell are you sorry?” Fury asked, and Tony shut up. “Call off your artificial guard dog, Stark- I need to have a chat with my team.”

“I do hope you realize I am under no obligation to obey commands given under duress,” Jarvis spoke up evenly. “Even sir cannot override my free agency where his safety and well-being are concerned.”

“You are the most paranoid computer I've ever met, JARVIS, you know that?” Fury demanded, and Tony snorted in amusement, because yes, Fury was arguing with Jarvis and still thinking of him as just a machine. “Not a word, Stark.”

Tony's amusement vanished in an instant and he was back in Rhodey's hold trying to hide from Fury and Thor's _don't talk_ echoing in the frantic vaults of his mind, too scared even to apologize, because apologies meant talking and nobody wanted him to talk so it was safer just to shut his mouth.

Rhodey growled deep in his chest, rumbling against Tony's cheek, and his arms tightened just a bit.

“Considering you only got in here because you knocked JARVIS out, _sir_ -” and Tony could honestly say he'd never heard Rhodey spit that much venom in is life, “-it's not exactly paranoia on his part. And you speak to Tony like that again, I will _end you_. Understood?”

The stool wheels squeaked sharply, moving back. “Understood, Colonel,” Fury said with what sounded suspiciously like _respect_ , the hell. “I do need to speak to the team, however. Now would be good.”

“Sir?” Jarvis asked, filtering his voice only through the speaker next to the couch. “Would you feel safe if I allowed the team out of lockdown?”

He really, really wished he could lie and say yes, but the way he tensed up, heartrate skyrocketing, made it pretty fucking obvious what the truth was, so he didn't bother saying anything.

“Very well, sir,” Jarvis said. “The bots wish to leave their stations. Is that alright?”

Tony took a couple deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm himself, infuse himself with the iron that any Stark man who was an actual man possessed, and managed to lift his head, to actually look Fury in the eye. “Don't hurt them,” he whispered.

Fury didn't mock him. Didn't give him that lopsided look of _are you a fucking idiot_ disbelief. He just looked at him, steady and completely opaque, and nodded gravely.

Tony let his gaze drop, but didn't burrow back against Rhodey. “Let the kids out, J,” he said, and a chorus of excited beeping started up across the workshop. Rhodey laughed, soft and comfortable.

Fury stepped away, and the bots crowded around the couch, taking turns touching Tony, reassuring their most basic code that he was okay. Their intelligences were rudimentary, Stone Age compared to Jarvis, but they knew enough, had learned enough to worry. To care.

Once all three were sure Tony was fine(-ish), Dummy stationed himself behind the couch with his strut resting on the back, claw ready to defend; You rolled over to the arm to reaffirm his bromance with Rhodey, incidentally placing himself between the couch and door; and Butterfingers just folded himself up right there on the floor, claw resting comfortingly on Tony's leg.

Fury kicked the stool back to whatever table he'd pulled it from under in the first place.

“You seem to be in good hands, Stark,” he said at length. “I'm going to sort this shit out. I'm sure JARVIS won't let me do anything that'll make you twichy.”

Tony closed his eyes, resting a hand on Butterfingers' claw, and nodded. He trusted Jarvis. He didn't trust Fury, not completely, but he trusted J to keep an eye on him. To make sure none of them got loose. And even if they did, he had Rhodey and the kids. He could manage.

Fury's boots hit the floor hard with each step all the way to the door. Tony didn't relax the least little bit until the sound cut off abruptly, the soundproof seal blotting it out. Even then, he couldn't relax completely.

“You okay, Tones?” Rhodey asked. “We can leave if you want. Go to the mansion, or corporate HQ.”

Tony shook his head. He'd rather stay here, where he'd know right away if anything went wrong, and he'd have his suits nearby. True, probably the only ones who _couldn't_ destroy the suit were Clint and Natasha – and they could still disable it and peel him out and then he was fucked all over again because they were both better fighters than him – but at least a suit meant he stood however slim a chance of escaping.

“Okay.” He didn't have to say anything out loud, because Rhodey didn't need to know why. Rhodey just accepted that he needed to stay and left it at that. “Try and get some sleep, buddy. I'll wake you if anything happens.”

“And I shall keep Colonel Rhodes updated at all times,” Jarvis added, back to letting his voice fill up the room with almost tangible warmth and affection.

Tony nodded, shifting so he was all but curled up in Rhodey's lap. He didn't fit as well as he used to, too filled out and all grown up, but Rhodey didn't mind. Rhodey never minded.

“Night, sugarplum,” he said quietly.

“Night, princess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter is shorter than usual. Hopefully the next few chapters will make it up to you guys.


	8. Bruce: What We Deserve

The lockdown had been remarkably subtle, to the point that Bruce wasn't aware it had happened until he'd gotten Natasha settled and tried to leave the room. There'd been no slamming down of blast doors, no ominous bolt shooting home, no alarm or any sign at all, really: the door just refused to open.

Bruce's first reaction was the low rumble of panic that always welled up when he felt trapped, but he battled it down. For all the rooms in the Tower were on a grander scale than most would consider normal, there was no way to ensure Natasha's safety if he changed in here with her. With her leg broken, she couldn't even get out of his way.

“Bruce?”

His tension had to be visible to Natasha all the way on the couch, or she wouldn't have sounded concerned.

“Um... we seem to be locked in,” Bruce said, sighing and turning back to her, forcing his shoulders to relax.

Natasha frowned. “Any chance JARVIS has been compromised?”

Bruce shook his head, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Tony took me through the protocols once,” he said. “There are redundant failsafes that would warn us if that were the case.”

Natasha sank back into her mound of pillows, scowling. “He's taking this too far,” she said flatly.

Bruce sighed. He still wasn't clear on what exactly had happened before Tony had abandoned the fight, only that it had resulted in Natasha's leg being broken and Clint had been positively homicidal over it.

“That really doesn't sound like Tony,” he said after a long moment. “There must be something going on with him that we don't know about.”

“Nothing that would justify what he's done,” Natasha disagreed. “He's throwing a tantrum now. It's disgusting to watch.”

There was a piercing blast of feedback over the household speakers, an almost indignant squeal that Bruce was halfway certain was deliberate.

“If you are _quite_ finished,” JARVIS said in a voice that sounded downright frigid. “Director Fury is here to see you. Do not attempt to leave when I let him in, or I will be forced to take more drastic measures.”

“I don't think you have measures drastic enough to contain the other guy,” Bruce said, trying not to let the trapped feeling overwhelm him.

“It might not be a good idea to threaten the intelligence that controls this entire building, Dr. Banner, especially when it's already pissed at you.”

Just as there'd been no sign of lockdown being engaged ,there was no sign it had lifted other than Fury standing in the doorway where he hadn't been a second ago. A shiver ran down Bruce's spine at the sight of him, because he looked angrier than usual, and Bruce felt as though that were partially directed at him.

“What's going on, Director?” Natasha asked, sitting a little straighter on the couch.

“Maybe you should tell me, Romanov.” Even Natasha was visibly startled by the undercurrent of anger there.

“Sir?”

“Maybe you should start by telling me why Stark's holed up in his workshop with an overprotective air force officer threatening to kill me if I upset him,” Fury continued, crossing his arms. “Or why his AI seems to think letting you out of lockdown would be detrimental to Stark's health. Or why Stark seems to be terrified of you.”

“He abandoned the fight, sir,” Natasha said in a carefully neutral voice. “We're lucky the worst of our injuries was a clean break.”

A harsh, game-show style buzzer sounded overheard.

“Incorrect, Agent Romanov,” JARVIS said. “Sir did not remove himself from the battlefield: I did. Technically without his permission. Please do try to blame the consequences of your actions on sir again- I'm finding proving you wrong to be quite enjoyable.”

“Our actions?” Bruce repeated, standing. He needed to pace, to move at least a little. The urge to run was becoming unbearable. “What do you mean, JARVIS? What did _we_ do?”

“All Stark managed to get out before he broke down on me was something about the charity gig last week,” Fury said.

“Broke down?” Bruce demanded, at the same time Natasha snapped, “We didn't do anything.”

“He also made mention of videos,” JARVIS said. Natasha glanced at Bruce in a way that stated quite clearly that she didn't understand the significance.

Bruce did.

Videos.

How many times had Natasha mentioned videos that night? How many videos had Bruce come across on the internet, everything from steamy kissing to multiple threesomes. He'd seen Tony naked long before last week, years before he'd even met the man. Years before he'd had sex with him.

“Tell me something, Agent Romanov,” Fury said as Bruce sat heavily on the couch arm once more. “Are you at all familiar with the phrase 'no means no'?”

“Of course I-”

“Because from what Stark was able to say, I got the impression that the team of goddamn superheroes he's housing couldn't figure that little rule out.”

“What did he say?” Bruce asked quietly, forestalling the angry retort no doubt on the tip of Natasha's tongue.

“He said we shouldn't blame you,” Fury said. His voice felt like ice water down Bruce's back. “According to him, a few videos on the internet excuses rape.”

“We didn't-”

“The hell you didn't, Romanov!” Fury snapped, raising his voice to cut her off. “The man was drunk off his ass, way too far gone to consent- even if he never gave the slightest hint he wasn't down with what was happening-”

“He did.” Bruce felt sick to his stomach. Tony had opened his home to him, trusted him, been his friend, and he... “He said... he tried to...”

And all he could see was Tony, eyes glazed and lips bruised, and he'd thought he looked so... beautiful. Amazing. Beyond perfect, mindless with pleasure, when really he'd been...

“Excuse me.”

He stumbled to his feet, to Natasha's bathroom in cool blues and greens. Transforming had left him starving, but not completely empty. What was left found its way into the sink, leaving him bent over the counter and gasping.

And he deserved it, truly deserved it, when JARVIS spoke to him, voice a low, seething whisper, “He trusted you, Doctor Banner.”

Bruce nodded, pawing the water on, battling a wave of pure self-loathing. He could hear Fury in the other room yelling, and for once his first instinct wasn't to run. The other guy didn't even stir. He ran from his responsibilities and mistakes all the time, but this... he couldn't run from this.

He took off his glasses, washed his face, and forced himself to meet his reflection's eyes.

“It isn't the Hulk that makes you a monster, Doctor Banner,” JARVIS told him coldly.

Bruce didn't bother to fight flinching from those words. He deserved them. He deserved worse.

He put his glasses back on and left the bathroom. Whatever punishment Fury or Tony or JARVIS handed down would be less than he deserved, and he would not run away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know so many people wanted Jarvis to fuck with the team, but I felt his anger was far too great to bother with that. And the worst for them is yet to come.


	9. Natasha: Unforgivably Wrong

“Excuse me.”

Bruce stumbled from the room, leaving Natasha alone with Fury, who seemed intent on living up to his name. She'd never seen him so visibly angry, not even facing down the WSC over their attempt to nuke Manhattan. She wasn't sure if he was simply being more open about how he felt, or if the anger was so much greater that he couldn't hold it in like he usually did.

She fought the urge to slip a hand between the cushions of the couch, where she kept a few spare throwing knives, just in case. She could hear Bruce retching in the bathroom behind her, and though she trusted him, she didn't yet trust the Hulk, and she was torn between focusing on Bruce potentially transforming and Fury, unable to decide which was the greater threat.

Fury stood in silence, not moving, long enough that Natasha's hand twitched involuntarily toward her knives. For all her training, she had never been able to do more than a pale imitation of Fury's stony, intimidating silence.

“Well, Agent?” he asked at length. “Care to explain yourself? Because I would dearly love to know what the _hell_ you were thinking.”

“There's nothing to explain, sir,” Natasha said, forcing herself to stay still. “Stark initiated the encounter. Maybe he regretted his actions in the morning. I can't say for certain, since he's been sulking all week.”

“Sulking?” Fury repeated, in a dangerously level tone that only made his anger even more obvious.

“He's been hiding in his workshop and refusing to speak to anyone, sir,” she explained. “Even Bruce has been locked out.”

“And it never occurred to you there might be a _reason_ for that?”

“Stark overreacts,” Natasha stated simply, because it was true. Every time someone broke the microwave, Stark indulged in at least an hour of 'mourning' for his 'poor baby' before replacing the thing. A stain in the hall carpet had once resulted in a full re-carpeting of the entire floor. Stark didn't know _how_ to react like a normal person. “He did something stupid and is overreacting.”

“Bullshit,” Fury snapped. “I can't decide if you're too stubborn to admit you fucked up, or so goddamn stupid you actually believe the shit you're spewing, Romanov.”

Natasha stiffened slightly, frowning. “What exactly are you implying, sir?” she asked icily.

Lesser men could be reduced to abject terror by her tone, but Fury had faced worse without flinching.

“I'm not implying jack shit, Agent, I'm flat-out stating: you and the rest of this team of dumbasses _raped a civilian!_ And now you're trying to pin the blame for it on him!” His tone turned mocking, “Was his suit too tight, Romanov? Should he have known better than to drink so much? Was he just _asking_ for it, climbing into the backseat drunk and dressed like that?”

“He started humping Clint like a dog!” Natasha burst out, confused and angry. “ _He_ started it, and-”

“And if he teases someone like that, he has to follow through?” Fury finished for her, fairly dripping contempt. “That's especially rich, considering you've made a career of leading men on.”

Natasha couldn't help the sharp inward hiss of breath at that, and all that kept her on the couch was her broken leg. “That is completely different.”

“You're right,” Fury agreed. “You've never gone on a mission completely drunk off your ass, and you haven't had to actually fuck anyone you've mined for intel since you started working for SHIELD.”

“It's different because Stark had no ulterior motive,” she argued, trying to make Fury see reason here. “All that came out of it was mutual pleasure, something Stark is very well known for. His insatiable sex drive is all but legendary- surely you've seen the videos.”

Fury's face managed to darken further, but it was JARVIS who responded. A holographic screen bloomed in front of her, so close and sudden that she flinched involuntarily away from it. The footage it played was familiar, a video she had watched repeatedly since first finding it a few months ago. It was long as these videos went, almost a full twenty minutes, all of which involved Stark handcuffed to a bed at the mercy of a slim and somewhat mousey blonde woman. Natasha liked the reversal of the power dynamic their physical contrast would normally suggest, liked to see so cocky and proud a man reduced to incoherency by the woman's gentle yet relentless attentions.

“This video,” JARVIS said coldly, sounding more mechanical than she'd ever heard him sound before, “is the most recent you'll find in terms of actual events. It was recorded in 2006, more than five years ago. You quite enjoy this one, don't you?”

Natasha hesitated, not sure if an answer was required of her or which answer to give if one was, but JARVIS seemed content with her silence.

“Would it lessen or increase your enjoyment to know that sir was admitted to the hospital the following morning, with alarmingly high levels of zolpidem in his system? Charges were never brought, as sir could never recall sufficient detail to positively identify the woman or her cohort.”

Natasha frowned. She knew what zolpidem was, of course, and it _did_ change her opinion of that specific video, but... “I don't understand. Stark was drunk last week, not drugged.”

“Alcohol, in sufficient quantities, can have the same affect,” Bruce said from behind her, still sounding faintly ill. Natasha glanced back at him, saw his eyes light on the screen and watched him shudder convulsively. “Jarvis, please turn that off?”

The screen blinked out once more, leaving the air empty behind it.

“Thank you,” Bruce said quietly, looking up at Fury through damp bangs. He was tense and wary as he'd been in Calcutta, on the Helicarrier before the team had come together. “Director, how... how is he?”

“You suddenly care?” Fury asked, and Bruce dropped his gaze.

“Right. That... right. Sorry.”

“Bruce?” Natasha still didn't understand. She couldn't muddle her way through the complex web of social and moral convention that she seemed to have unwittingly tangled herself in. Bruce, though, had the understanding of a comparatively normal upbringing, a childhood and formation in society. She'd come to trust him and the team, and she was willing to admit her own shortcoming to him when he so obviously did not share it.

Bruce sighed, sliding onto the arm of the couch. His hip was a solid and comforting warmth against her neck and head, and made her feel less vulnerable with at least her back guarded.

“It's okay,” Bruce told her. “I'll explain it. I'll... I'll explain everything. I'll make sure you understand.”

“Jarvis?” Fury asked.

“I believe Dr. Banner can be... trusted with this,” JARVIS answered. “If I find his explanation lacking, I will help him along.”

Bruce tensed at her back for a moment, then relaxed. Fury only nodded shortly.

“Consider your asses under house arrest,” Fury said, still glaring with open heat. “If either of you leave this floor, there will be consequences. Am I understood?”

Natasha nodded, hiding her relief. She'd been legitimately worried that Fury might simply kill her, and she wouldn't even know _why_.

Fury nodded once more and left without another word. This time JARVIS made sure they both clearly heard the locks engage.

Bruce laid a hand on Natasha's shoulder. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch slightly.

“I guess we should start with implied consent and why we fucked up by relying on it,” he said, and began to explain.

And the more he talked, voice soft and gentle and full of guilt, the more Natasha began to see. And the more she saw, the more she wished she was still blind. In horribly clear hindsight, aided by the resources JARVIS grudgingly provided to supplement the hour-long explanation, she could see she'd been wrong. Terribly, unforgivably wrong.

“We should have asked,” he finished, voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, worn as much from emotion as the endless talking. His hand on her shoulder was heavy, and she shook slightly under it. “We assumed, and that... we... we should have asked.”

Natasha had cried before. False tears as a front, little more than stage makeup to compliment a role. This was not like that.  Raw, hot emotion she hadn't been convinced she could even feel bubbled to the surface; for the first time perhaps in her entire life, she began to cry genuine tears for the man she had misjudged, hurt, and helped to ruin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for the wait. Natasha is terrible for me to write at the best of times. Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait for you guys, and I hope I didn't do too awful at writing her.
> 
> But seriously: never writing Natasha again.
> 
> /dies
> 
> Forgot to add, [zolpidem](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zolpidem) is a prescription medication for insomnia, which is known to be used as a date-rape drug.


	10. Steve: What I've Done

“Captain Rogers.”

Steve looked up, not sure where to rest his eyes. JARVIS was technically everywhere around them, but Steve always instinctively looked for something he could use in place of eye contact.

“Director Fury is here,” JARVIS said. “He is currently dealing with Dr. Banner and Agent Romanov.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Steve said, looking back down at his hands. At least with Director Fury here, all this could finally be sorted out. “Can I speak to him?”

“No,” JARVIS said immediately, with the same flat tone he'd used when Steve had repeatedly asked to speak to Tony.

Steve sighed, glancing at his bedroom door. He _could_ break it down. He hated the thought of doing that if he didn't absolutely have to, of course, but if JARVIS wasn't even letting him speak to Fury...

“I wouldn't recommend it, Captain,” JARVIS said. “I can incapacitate you before you've made it halfway across the room.”

“Why are you doing this?” Steve demanded. He wanted to at least pace, but JARVIS might take that as him trying to get out of the room. Who knew how computers thought, assuming they thought at all. “Look, I wasn't going to hurt Tony, JARVIS- I just wanted to talk to him!”

“With respect, Captain,” JARVIS said, in a tone that sounded pretty _dis_ respectful to Steve, “You no longer have the right to speak to him.”

“We're teammates, JARVIS, we-”

“ _No, you are not._ ”

Steve actually recoiled physically from the very evident, very _human_ anger in JARVIS's voice. JARVIS didn't show emotion like that. Steve hadn't known he was _capable_ of emotion like that.

“You are _not_ teammates,” JARVIS spat. “You may have once been, but you no longer have the right to claim _any_ kind of association with sir. The only reason you've been allowed to remain in the Tower this long is because I cannot trust you where I cannot control you.”

“What could we possibly have done to make you not trust us?” Steve asked, bewildered. And, he could admit to himself, a little afraid.

JARVIS was silent for a very long, tense minute that felt like an eternity to Steve. When he spoke again, he sounded like someone keeping their temper in check through sheer will.

“It is possible that you do not understand,” JARVIS said. “Though I find it hard to believe a man of your intelligence could not grasp so simple a concept as the meaning of the word no.”

Steve stood, turning very deliberately away from the door and walking to the window. The skyline was changed, but enough of it was comfortingly familiar. “I really don't understand what you're saying,” he confessed, pressing his fingertips against the cool glass.

“We shall begin with the basics,” JARVIS said, calm on the surface but still with that hint of roiling _anger_ burning under every word. “You recall the Avengers as a team attended a charity function exactly one week ago today?”

JARVIS paused, obviously expecting a response, so Steve nodded.

“Good. When sir returned to his workshop that night, he was still quite inebriated. Is it safe to assume he drank a fair amount that evening?” Steve nodded again. “You yourself were not inebriated, correct?”

“JARVIS, I don't understand-”

“Answer the question, Captain,” JARVIS interrupted flatly.

“Okay, no. I didn't drink that night.”

“Finally, during the drive back to the Tower, you engaged in sexual relations with sir.”

“Yeah, bu-”

“When a person who is sober has sex with someone who is drunk, that is legally actionable as rape.”

Steve spun from the window to gape up at the ceiling, hardly believing his ears. “ _What?_ ”

“I'm sorry if that was too difficult for you, Captain- tell me which part was unclear, and I will gladly simplify it.”

“Is... is that what Tony said?” Steve asked, biting his lip. If Tony was lying to JARVIS like that...

“Sir has said very little in the past week,” JARVIS informed him. “He appears to have been given the impression silence on his part is preferred.”

“Then why would you think that we... we... did _that_?”

“You admit to engaging in sexual relations with a man who was obviously drunk, while you yourself were sober. This is basic fact, which you yourself have confirmed.”

“But he wanted it!” Steve protested.

The room temperature plummeted at least 20 degrees in the space of a heartbeat. Steve's breath became visible halfway through an exhalation as he stepped involuntarily backward, shying away from the sudden chill.

“Did you _ask?_ ” JARVIS demanded. “Did _any_ of you think to ask, just once, if sir was willing?”

“N-Natasha said-”

“Agent Romanov is not Tony!”

Steve froze, forgetting even the cold for a brief moment, because JARVIS never called anyone by their first name. Especially not Tony.

“So consent was neither asked for nor given, yet you deny any wrongdoing?” JARVIS asked as the temperature dropped a little more, just enough to be noticeable.

“JARVIS, please-”

“Did Tony beg?” JARVIS asked, colder even than the bedroom.

And yes, Tony had, after that amazing blowjob, a soft and hazy _Bruce, please..._ and Steve vaguely recalled admitting he'd never heard Tony beg for anything before then, but that was different. “That-”

“ _Yes or no_ , Captain.”

“ _Y-yes_ , okay?" Steve burst out as his teeth began to chatter.  "Yes, he did, b-but he w-was- he w-wanted m- _more_ , n-not to s-stop!”

The room became nearly Arctic around him, just for a moment, before the temperature began to slowly climb again.

“You are not an idiot, Captain,” JARVIS said. “Do not mistake me for one, either.”

Steve shifted from foot to foot, glancing at the bed and the heavy blanket folded at the foot. Would JARVIS even let him? He decided not to risk it.

“I... I don't understand,” he said, sighing. At least it wasn't so cold he could see himself breathing anymore. “If Tony wasn't... if he didn't want... why didn't he _say_ something?”

“What reason did he have to believe he would be listened to?” JARVIS asked. “Any one of you could easily overpower him, and I have yet to see evidence any of you expressed concern for his well-being. Why should he have thought there was any point to protesting once it became clear what you wanted from him?”

Steve hesitated, unable to answer that. “Why now?” He asked instead. “It's been a week, if Tony really wants nothing to do with us, why wait so long?”

“Out of what I can only assume is admirable but misplaced loyalty, sir chose not to reveal what exactly happened,” JARVIS said. “It was only today, after it became clear you not only felt no remorse for your actions but wished to repeat them, that myself, Colonel Rhodes, and Director Fury were able to draw enough out of him to piece together what occurred.”

Steve stepped to the side, sitting on the bed once more. “He was... protecting us?”

“That is the conclusion I've drawn. It's possible he feared I or his other protectors would harm you. I admit I've entertained the thought, but I won't act on it. For sir's peace of mind, and not out of any lingering respect for you.”

Steve shivered, trying not to think of how badly everything could have ended if JARVIS wanted him dead.

“What happens now?” Steve asked quietly.

“Now, you will remain in your rooms until Director Fury and I arrive at a suitable means by which you can be removed from the premises. You may leave the bedroom, but attempts to leave your apartment will be dealt with.”

Steve nodded, not saying anything. What did you even say to a building, albeit an intelligent one?

“Good,” JARVIS said. “I will be monitoring you; attempts to circumvent me are inadvisable.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you, Captain. I'll leave you to your thoughts.”

Steve closed his eyes and shivered again, hugging himself. He would rather anything but his thoughts at the moment, and JARVIS probably knew that. It was the least of what he deserved, anyway. Steve at least understood that.

He unfolded the blanket, wrapping it tightly around his shoulders, and forced himself to remember what he'd done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just Thor and Clint left now, then the conclusion. So it's either 13 or 14 chapters in total, not sure yet. Depends on how the finale plays out, I guess.
> 
> Apologies for the wait. You guys are way too patient with me, seriously.
> 
> Also, [shameless tumblr plug](http://withoutwordsfics.tumblr.com/)! You can see all the random shit that distracts me from writing, as well as previews and such of stuff I'm working on.


	11. Thor: Someone Who Trusted Me

Thor had never counted patience among his chiefest virtues. He had never much liked things which required him to wait, and in his youth had rarely considered such things worth his attention. He had often brashly ignored the rewards of patience, choosing instead to pursue goals which could be won immediately, through strength alone.

His exile to Midgard had taught him that there were things in life which strength alone could not win him, and his moons with the Avengers had taught him that there were, indeed, things which were worth the patience that bought them.

He had learned also that Jarvis, the artificial spirit Anthony had created within the walls of his home, was not a being which interfered lightly in their lives. Thor was more than capable of forcing the door to his chambers, but Jarvis would not have sealed him in without reason; Thor would be patient, at least for now.

It seemed an eternity to Thor, though the clock proclaimed the passing of mere hours before the door opened unbidden and Director Fury strode through it.

Thor felt a certain fond admiration for Director Fury, and could not help but smile at him. He expected no answering smile from the man- Fury was not unlike Odin, holding himself apart from his warriors, remaining grave and in control at all times.

“I am not happy with you,” Fury said, without greeting or preamble. “I've let a lot of shit slide from you, Prince Thor, on account of you being from another world, but there are certain lines that do not get crossed.”

Thor's smile became a puzzled frown. “What line have I crossed?” he asked. He could recall nothing that warranted such anger, especially not from Fury.

“Why don't we start with you telling me what the fuck went down in the limo last week,” Fury ordered, never mind it was phrased as a request.

“We bonded as a team,” Thor said. “It was most enjoyable.”

“For all parties involved, or just you?”

“I heard no complaints from the others, only that Natasha wished to enjoy Anthony more intimately.”

“Did she.”

Thor nodded. “We were perhaps remiss in not allowing her,” he admitted. “Is this where I have erred?”

The last person Thor recalled regarding him with such obvious doubt of his intellect was Loki.

“That's why you think I'm pissed?” Fury asked. “Because Romanov didn't get to fuck Stark herself?”

“I can see no other way I might have angered you.”

“Does the word rape not exist on Asgard?”

“Natasha was under no duress, and quite active in our activity.”

“I'm not talking about Romanov, I'm talking about Stark.”

Thor was caught enough by surprise that he could only stare for several long seconds. “What?”

“Stark. The man you fucked last week. The one drunk off his ass in a limo of superheroes that apparently shouldn't be trusted with a houseplant.”

“Anthony made no protest,” Thor said. “There was much he could have used as a weapon, if he wished.”

“Are you saying he must have been fine with it because he didn't get _violent_ on your asses?”

“If he did not wish our attentions, he would have fought. Surely Anthony is not so weak as to endure unwanted advances.”

“Are you trying to say this is Stark's fault?” Fury asked with the cold of a tomb in his carefully even words.

“Either he is spinning falsehoods to hide his own shame, or he allowed himself to be despoiled and did not attempt to defend himself.” It was saddening to consider either course, for it meant Anthony was either a weakling or a coward. Thor had thought more highly of him than that.

“He should have fought you?” Fury demanded. “You, a fucking _god_? You, a super soldier who could break him in half, two assassins, _and_ a man who turns into a giant green natural disaster when he's pissed? Stark should have fought back against all of you when any one of you could kill him barehanded? _That's_ what he should have done?”

“Yes. A wish cannot be honored if it is not expressed.”

“Or you could have asked him if he was down with being fucked by his entire team beforehand.”

“On Asgard-”

“This is _not_ Asgard,” Fury interrupted. “This is Earth. We have _laws_ here, laws that you are _not_ exempt from. Either you play by our rules, or you take your fucking hammer and haul your ass back where you came from. Is that clear?”

“You would dare-”

“Is. That. Clear?”

Thor did not doubt that, should he chose to, he could easily overpower Fury. It would take little effort to kill the man out of hand, should he wish. Yet some deep instinct within him listened to this puny, aged mortal, and stayed his hand for him.

Fury was, he knew, a man who understood what it was to lead. He was possessed of qualities that enabled him to command a force such as SHIELD, to do what some would consider great evil in the service of greater good, and not flinch from the duty. Fury was a balancer of costs. A bruised ego mattered to him only in what actions it might cause. He would not have come here and delivered such an ultimatum for the sake of Anthony's pride.

Perhaps, then, this was more than a matter of pride.

“I still do not understand,” Thor said at length. He didn't understand what wrong he had committed, or why Fury was so angered by whatever he had done.

“Of course you don't. You have no idea what it's like to be vulnerable. Even when your daddy tossed you down here and took away your powers, you were stronger than most humans. You don't know what it's like to be surrounded by people who could kill you out of hand, knowing there's nothing you can do to stop them if they decide you need to die. That's what Stark lives every goddamn day since you people moved in with him. He put his life in your hands every minute of every day, and trusted you assholes to watch his back while he was vulnerable. How do you think he felt when you turned on him?”

“We did not turn on him,” Thor protested. “We merely-”

“Merely what?” Fury asked with a humorless bark of laughter. “You turned on him and used him, and now you're saying it's perfectly okay because he knew he didn't stand a chance in Hell against any one of you, let alone all five together. You're an idiot if you think we're not aware of what you can do to someone if they fight back. I've got agents who are _still_ recovering from your little trip to New Mexico.”

“They were keeping me from Mjolnir.”

“Exactly. They were between you and what you wanted. And like a spoiled little rich kid, you threw a tantrum. Stark's seen you throw fits before, and he had no reason to believe you wouldn't break a few bones to get what you wanted from him. The bruises he got anyway are pretty fucking spectacular.”

“Perhaps Anthony is more fragile than he appears,” Thor conceded uneasily. “But-”

“You say one more thing that sounds even vaguely like you're trying to pin the blame on Stark, and I will shoot you in the head,” Fury threatened. “Really test that immortality of yours.”

Even Thor could not say for certain he could survive that. The Aesir were far from impossible to kill.

Strangely, the threat of deadly violence seemed the strongest proof that he had indeed wronged Anthony. One might argue that Fury counted killing as nothing of import, to be done for any reason he saw fit, but again: Fury was a leader. He would not murder out of hand one of his realm's greatest protectors without very good reason, and there was no doubt in Thor's mind that his threat was far from empty.

“I do hate to interrupt, Director,” Jarvis spoke suddenly, a trace of grim delight in its voice. “But Miss Potts has arrived at the Tower. She wishes to speak with you.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Fury said, gaze still fixed unerringly on Thor. “You sit tight, Prince Thor,” he said. “I am far from finished with you, but I think you at least have something to think about while I'm gone.”

Thor nodded stiffly. He did not move when Fury turned and left his chambers. He remained where he was as the door closed, no doubt locking once more. He stood in the room Anthony had gifted him, able to do nothing but marvel at the fact that he seemed once again to have failed someone who trusted him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not completely okay with this one. Hopefully you guys still like it and I'm just being overly critical of my own writing again.
> 
> Thankfully chapter 12 is well on its way to done already, so you won't have nearly as long to wait for Clint! Like... there's a significant possibility that I could have it up tomorrow ~~if I get enough comments tonight~~.


	12. Clint: So Goddamn Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. You guys. Oh my god you guys are amazing. So many reviews. @.@
> 
> Also, I'm updating two days in a row. Hopefully the universe doesn't implode. o.o

Clint had a sneaking suspicion that JARVIS had chosen the sedative he did specifically for the truly _nasty_ taste it left in his mouth when he came to.

“Good afternoon, Agent Barton,” JARVIS said, the way a serial killer might. “Please return to your room- you have a visitor.”

It didn't take a genius to figure out that disobeying was not an option. JARVIS had complete control of the vents, and would probably just gas him again if he looked like he was getting ideas. So he scooted back, sliding out of the vents and back on top of his dresser, jumping to the floor.

“About time you- oh, hey, Miss Potts. What's up?” He'd been expecting Tony, maybe Fury, but apparently Tony couldn't even give his own bullshit excuses in person. Figured.

“Agent Barton,” Potts said in a crisp professional tone that made him wish he had his bow in his hands. “I think by now you're aware that we're very unhappy with you.”

“Yeah, I'm getting that,” Clint said. “Is someone gonna tell me why?”

She raised one carefully plucked eyebrow at him.

“No, seriously- what the hell's going on? It's not like this is the first time I've threatened to kill Tony. I do it all the time. So what gives?”

“It's not a good idea to make me even angrier at you,” Potts warned him flatly. “I can be _very_ creative when it comes to getting back at people who hurt my friends.”

“I still have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Taking part in sexual assault slips your mind that easily?”

“Hold up half a fucking second,” Clint objected, stepping into her personal space. “Where do you get off accusing people of being rapists?” She was an inch or two taller thanks to her heels, but Clint was confident he could still back her down if he had to.

Or not. She just smiled thinly at him, not budging. “Please hit me,” she said, dangerously sweet. “Tony won't press charges, but if you lay a finger on me, _I_ will. And SHIELD won't protect you.”

“Tony doesn't have any charges to press. It's not exactly my fault your boytoy is the reason they _invented_ the word 'slut'.”

It was the surprise that did him in. Even as Potts took a step back, visibly ready to chew iron and spit nails, he still didn't expect her to actually do anything. He _saw_ her pull her hand back, but he didn't _register_ it, and her palm connected with his face hard enough to send him reeling before it filtered through his brain that she was going to hit him.

Clint stumbled back on instinct, bumping into the dresser, and Potts crowded right into him, burying five perfectly manicured talons into his shirt and yanking him close, voice low and rigidly controlled as she hissed directly into his face, “If you don't shut your mouth, _right this instant_ , you will regret it.”

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” Clint demanded. He was more than capable of taking Potts in a fight, but with JARVIS acting up all over the place, he didn't know if he could survive the victory.

Potts let him go and stepped back, wiping her hand on her blazer as if she'd touched something foul. “Would you like to know the last time Tony had sex?” she asked, not pausing to let him answer. “The night before he left for Afghanistan. _Three years ago_.”

Clint stared at her, trying to reconcile _Tony Stark_ with _hasn't had sex in three years_ in his brain, and not quite making it. “But you two-”

“Have never had sex,” Potts interrupted. “We've never even made out. We were too busy valuing each other as human beings and building an actual relationship. Proving to him I see him as a person, not a glorified sex toy. I suppose you've made it perfectly clear which _you_ think of him as.”

“You don't even know what happened,” Clint snapped, keeping a tight grip on his temper, just in case JARVIS went completely nuts on him.

“I don't have to,” Potts said. “The results are clear enough without the details.”

“Kind of like the results of abandoning us on the field today?”

Potts went thin-lipped with anger, and Clint thought for a second she was going to hit him again. He was prepared this time, and he could block it no problem.

“What, no comeback for that?”

“Jarvis played what you said to him. About him.” Potts was still seething, doing a great job of living up to the fiery redhead trope, but her voice was dangerously flat. “Can you honestly expect him to stick around after finding out his rapists want another go at him?”

“Nobody raped anybody,” Clint snapped. “Or did he forget to tell you the part where he tried to hump me to death?”

“ _He was asking for it_ is not only disgusting reasoning, but very poor justification, Agent Barton.”

“He was! He's right downstairs- we can go ask him, if he's done sulking!”

“Even if Tony were in any condition to confront you right now, neither Jarvis nor I would allow it. And you _certainly_ have no right to demand it.”

“Who the hell do you think you are, Potts?”

“Tony's friend, which is more than you can say for yourself.”

“Since when do you get to decide who is and isn't Tony's friend?”

“Since you _raped him_.”

“It wasn't fucking rape!”

Rape was violence. Rape was fetid breath and sweaty hands in the trees behind the tents. Rape was rope burn and the taste of rubber, cold metal and the threat of hot lead. Rape was screaming and tears and not daring to do anything because it would get you killed if they knew you were there. Getting roaring drunk and staging an impromptu orgy in the backseat was _not_ rape. Tony being a cockslut was not rape. Clint knew rape, and what they'd done was anything but.

“Yes, it was.”

Clint got halfway to punching her pretty face in before he remembered where he was, who she was, and why he hadn't already done that, and still she didn't so much as flinch. She just stood there like a statue, holding his gaze with a coolness most agents he'd worked with couldn't manage, while he stood there torn between lowering his fist and following through on the punch anyway.

“Don't hurt her!”

Clint wasn't sure who was more surprised at the interruption- him or Potts. She jumped with a squeak, then Clint couldn't see her anymore because there was a body in the way. Tony's body, to be exact, and everything Clint had been wanting to say to him since Nat broke her leg under a red rodent death machine died on his tongue as soon as he got a good look at the man.

Tony looked... wrecked. He was visibly shaking, hunched in on himself as if expecting to be attacked at any moment, staring hard at the plush carpet instead of looking at anyone else in the room. His skin was pale and his eyes were bruised from lack of sleep, bloodshot from crying or drinking or both. He was shirtless - Tony was _never_ shirtless - and the arc reactor was surrounded by old scars and fresh bruises. He looked about five seconds away from a massive panic attack, blocking Potts with his own body, still chanting like some kind of madness mantra, “Don't hurt her, please don't hurt her, I'll do anything, do whatever you want to me, but don't hurt her, please, don't hurt her-”

“Jarvis?”

“I'm sorry, Miss Potts,” JARVIS said, actually sounding apologetic. “I had no choice- he was hurting himself.”

Just like that, Clint might as well have never existed. Potts redirected all her attention to Tony, grabbing his wrist and lifting his hand, and Clint could clearly see the beginning of bruises along the side, crescents of red where his nails had cut into his palm.

“ _Tony_ ,” Potts said quietly, almost like a soft prayer, folding both her hands around his and gently kissing his knuckles. “Where's Rhodey?”

“Colonel Rhodes will be up shortly,” JARVIS said. “He was showering when sir made his escape.”

“He can't hurt you,” Tony whispered, broken and raw with emotions Clint couldn't even name, trying to face Potts without actually turning his back on Clint. “He can't.”

Clint cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Look, Tony, I-”

“Shut up,” Potts snapped. She shouldn't have bothered, though, because Clint couldn't _not_ see the way Tony shied violently away from just the sound of his voice, trying to hide without giving him a clear path to Potts.

He'd assumed Tony was sulking. Ignoring them. That he'd had his fun and didn't think the team warranted his attention anymore. He'd figured Tony was being a shallow rich-bitch asshole. It had never once crossed his mind that Tony was hiding. That he was _afraid_ of them. Because even now, looking back at that night, he couldn't think of a single sign that Tony hadn't been just as into it as everyone else.

Could he?

The sad part was, nothing in the memory actually changed. It was still Tony panting and keening into Thor's shoulder, livid bruises forming on his hips, tears on his cheeks, sloppy and used and maybe, just maybe... But hell, it's not like Tony ever actually said no, right? Except the once, but that-

_No. Don't._

Maybe... shit. Maybe Tony _had_ said no. Had tried to say _don't fuck me_ , and Bruce had responded by fucking him _dry_.

_If he hurts in the morning, just remind him it's his own fault._

Shit, had he actually said that? How must that have sounded to Tony? No wonder Tony hadn't wanted anything to do with them. No wonder Tony thought he was going to hurt Potts when she got in his face. He hadn't exactly given the man much reason to trust his integrity, had he?

The irony of it was painful. He was Hawkeye, his eyesight was the stuff of legends, and still he'd been so goddamn blind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So two more chapters left(well, one chapter and an epilogue). Hard to think there's actually an end to this approaching, however slowly. Don't expect chapter 13 as quickly as you got this one, though, it's still only halfway written. ^^;


	13. Rhodey: Let Us Protect You

It was never safe to leave Tony unsupervised. Ever. Any other person on the planet, sure, you could leave them alone for ten minutes while you showered. Not Tony, and Rhodey had been a fool to think otherwise.

As soon as Jarvis had informed him Tony was trying to get into Barton's rooms, Rhodey had abandoned the shower, stopping only long enough to grab his pants and his gun. It had taken him only about a minute to get to the right floor, but it had felt like so much longer than that before he bulled into Barton's bedroom.

Tony and Pepper were both in there. So was Barton, but it was obvious right away that he wasn't an immediate danger to anyone except maybe himself. Rhodey had seen that look before, usually when it first hit a soldier that he'd killed another human being: eyes wide and blank with horror, face pale, hands clutching white-knuckled at whatever he could grab to keep him upright.

Rhodey thumbed the safety on, shoved the gun in the waist of his pants, and switched his focus to Tony. “Tony, buddy, what are you doing up here?” he asked, as gently as he could manage.

“I... I wanted to get you some beer,” Tony said, shifting slightly away from Pepper and toward Rhodey. “There isn't any downstairs but there's some up here so I thought I'd grab some while you were in the shower, to thank you for coming. I didn't- everyone was in their rooms, so it- it was safe.”

And even if anyone else might have thought Tony giving up alcohol entirely was a good thing, Rhodey would never forgive the Avengers for what that waste bin of broken glass meant. “But what are you doing in _here_?”

“Jarvis wouldn't let me call Pepper,” Tony said, shrugging. He inched a little closer, and Rhodey very carefully didn't react. The last thing he wanted to do was spook him even more. “I wanted to let her know you were here so she didn't have to worry about me, but he wouldn't let me. I asked why, and...”

“In retrospect, telling sir Miss Potts' whereabouts was not the wisest course,” Jarvis spoke up meekly. “My apologies.”

“Okay,” Rhodey said, sighing. “It's okay. Both of you. Nobody's mad at either of you.” Something moved at the extreme edge of his vision, Barton fidgeting, and Rhodey turned enough to pin him with a glare. “You, on the other hand, I am _very_ mad at.”

Barton stared back at him, pale and somber, and nodded. Under other circumstances, Rhodey might have felt sorry for him, been moved by his haunted expression and obvious distress. Under circumstances where he _didn't_ only look that way because he'd finally figured out how badly he'd hurt Tony, Rhodey might have gone a little easier on him.

Maybe.

As it was, he took almost sadistic pleasure in seeing Barton destroyed. It probably didn't say anything good about him as a human being, but he didn't care.

Fingers touched his, and he turned his hand without looking to grasp Tony's. He saw Barton's eyes flick down then back up, confused but smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“Pepper, can you go down to the workshop and get the rest of my uniform?” he asked. “And grab Tony a shirt, too?”

“I'm not your maid,” Pepper said automatically, with no real heat or snap behind it, gentling herself to avoid upsetting Tony. “Jarvis, what's Director Fury doing?”

“Arranging to have the Avengers removed to SHIELD custody,” Jarvis answered immediately. “He would like to know if you've finished with Agent Barton.”

“Yes,”

“Then he respectfully requests you all meet him in the main living room, if Agent Barton can be trusted to behave.”

“You can trust me that far,” Barton said quietly. Tony stiffened, but managed not to react beyond that. “I want me away from Tony at least as much as you do.”

Rhodey doubted that, but he let it go. “Fine. You first.”

Barton nodded, letting go of the dresser and forcing himself to stand straight. He walked toward the door like a man heading for his execution, and he very carefully avoided looking at Tony. Rhodey waved Pepper after him and brought up the rear with Tony in tow. It had been a while since he'd had to walk with Tony glued to him like this, but he could manage.

* * *

When they reached the living room, Fury had already assembled the rest of the team lined up against the wall. Every one of them looked like they were facing a firing squad. Even Romanov managed to stand more-or-less at attention, balancing on a pair of crutches with no evidence of pain on her face. Barton joined the lineup without a word or a backward glance, behaving just like he'd promised.

Rhodey surveyed the room, deciding on the wide couch- it was comfortable but easy to get off of quickly, far away enough that he could gun down anyone who made a move long before they reached Tony, and set against a wall so nothing could sneak up on them. He sat, pulling Tony down with him, and Pepper wordlessly grabbed an afghan off the nearest chair and draped it over Tony's shoulders before sitting on his other side a discreet distance away. Tony buried himself in Rhodey's arms once more, but he was too aware of their audience to climb in his lap like Rhodey knew he wanted to.

Fury moved about as much as a statue, letting the team sweat for a minute before he finally started talking.

“I'm not going to waste time repeating myself to any of you. We've all had the same talk, and you all know you're in deep shit. Transport should be here any minute now.” No one objected. No one even looked up from their intense group study of the carpet. “We have the means to contain all of you, and we will use them if any of you get out of hand,” he continued. “Considering yourselves under arrest would _severely_ understate exactly how close an eye we'll be keeping on you.”

Rogers, still not so much as glancing up, asked, “What will happen to the team, sir?”

“There is no _team_ anymore, Captain,” Fury snapped. “The Avengers are finished, and you assholes will be lucky if you ever see sunlight again.”

“You can't do that,” Tony protested, turning just far enough and raising his voice just loud enough to be heard but otherwise staying glued to Rhodey. “The world needs the Avengers.”

“There are other superheroes, Stark,” Fury pointed out.

“Word of this can't get out,” Tony said. Rhodey only noticed him start to tremble because he could feel it under his hands, the way Tony was vibrating in place just slightly. “People have to trust us. If the public knows we fucked up, they won't trust any of us, not even the other teams. This can't- it has to stay quiet.”

Rhodey wanted to pull Tony back against him, to tell him he didn't have to protect these assholes and to stop playing politics at his own expense, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. For as long as he'd known him, Tony had never put himself first. He showed a good mask of being irresponsible and selfish in public, but Rhodey knew who he was when you stripped him to the core, and he knew no power on Earth could convince Tony there was something that _wasn't_ more important than him.

“As awful as it sounds, he has a point,” Barton said. He at least had the balls to look at Fury when he talked. “And face it, sir- if word _does_ get out, we all know who the media's going to blame.”

Which... Rhodey hated to admit was a good point, one that hadn't even crossed his mind. The media would be overjoyed to have a reason to go after Tony again, and they would tear him apart. It would be a feeding frenzy worse than anything since The Palladium Incident.

Fury turned slightly toward the couch. “Potts?”

“They're not staying here,” Pepper said flatly. “I don't care what you do with them, but they are not staying here. That isn't open to discussion.”

“Pep,” Tony protested, even though Rhodey knew his arms around Tony were the only reason he hadn't bolted by now.

Pepper turned back to him, gaze softening completely in an instant. “Not even for you,” she said gently. “Let us protect you, Tony.”

“We have to be a team,” Tony said, closing his eyes. “We have to. I'll get over it. I just... I need time, but I can get over it, I always do, it's not like this is _new_ to me or anything, I just need _time_.”

Romanov actually flinched back against Banner, who slipped a comforting arm around her.

“ _They_ have to be a team,” Rhodey said, forcing himself not to growl. “ _You_ don't.”

“But-”

“No buts, Tones,” Rhodey interrupted.

Normally Tony would argue, just for the sake of arguing. Normally he'd object even if he agreed with Rhodey. Instead, he buried his face in Rhodey's shoulder and relaxed against him slightly, in the profoundest way he knew how to show gratitude, and it was all Rhodey could do to keep from breaking down in tears.

Tony had seemed so strong lately, with the team around him. He'd been coming out of his shell, letting his masks slip more and more, opening himself up and letting himself be happy. And now this clusterfuck had to come along and reduce Tony to rubble again, and Rhodey knew just how terrible rebuilding him would be.

There was a moment of heavy, awkward silence before Rogers cleared his throat. “And... our belongings, sir?”

“A team will collect whatever you brought to the Tower with you.”

“They can keep their stuff,” Tony said into Rhodey's shoulder. “All of it. I'll have it sent... wherever. It's okay.”

And Rhodey was definitely a horrible human being for the dark glee he felt as they managed to look even guiltier, that Tony was still going out of his way for them even when he was too scared to _look_ at them. This was just rubbing their faces in their mistake, and Rhodey had absolutely no problem with that.

“Director, if I might interrupt,” Jarvis said, “the transport detail you requested has arrived. I'm moving them through security at the moment, and they'll be up shortly.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Fury said. “We're ready for them.”

“My pleasure, Director,” Jarvis assured him.

When the elevator slid open, Rhodey was expecting something akin to a SWAT team- body armor, guns, possibly gas masks. What he got instead was half a dozen SHIELD agents in jumpsuits. Three of them didn't even have firearms, just small pouches attached to their belts. Since those three went straight to Rogers, Banner, and Thor, it was probably safe to assume they had something suitable for controlling them in there. Two of the others took up posts by Barton and Romanov, and the last presented Fury with a tablet.

“Everything's ready, sir,” she said. “Transport's downstairs, disruptors are in place, and no sign the media's been alerted.”

“Window?” Fury asked, pressing his thumb against the tablet screen and handing it back.

“Twenty minutes guaranteed- iffy beyond that.”

“We'd best get moving, then. Get 'em loaded.”

The agent nodded once, turning to the team. “You heard the man- move.”

Rogers glanced toward the couch like he wanted to say something; Rhodey glared at him until he wised up and let himself be led away. The others followed, each of them glancing back at least once, except Barton and the arresting agents. Apparently arresting superheroes for unknown crimes was a normal thing with SHIELD.

Fury was the last one out. He paused at the threshold and glanced back, expression unreadable. “Stark. You need anything SHIELD can offer, just ask. I'll see to it personally.” Then he was gone, and it was just the three of them.

Pepper sighed, melting back into the couch cushions. “That was a nightmare. Tony, baby, are you okay?”

Rhodey felt Tony shift subtly toward him and away from Pepper, and he understood why. He knew what Tony wanted, and that he would never actually say it, and he understood that, too, so it was on him to take care of things for Tony again.

“You should probably go, too,” he suggested as gently as he could, loathe to upset her but knowing he was about to.

“I'd rather stay,” Pepper said, shaking her head. “In case he needs me.”

“He needs to feel safe right now. You aren't safe.”

“I would never hurt him, Rhodey, you know that.”

“You want to have sex with him.”

“Yes, _eventually_ , but-”

“I'm sorry, Pepper,” Rhodey said, sighing. “It's nothing personal, I promise. I know it hurts, but the best thing you can do for him right now is go away.”

Pepper was one of the strongest people Rhodey had ever known, in terms of spirit, personality, and force of will. And God bless her, she loved Tony. Rhodey ragged on them all the time, but she loved him, enough that she swallowed back her tears, stomped down the hurt, and nodded.

“Take care of him for me,” She said, grabbing Rhodey's hand and squeezing. “Let me know how he is.”

“I will,” Rhodey promised her, squeezing back before letting her go.

“That goes for you, too, Jarvis,” she added, visibly pulling herself together before turning on her fancy heel and striding to the elevator, bearing up under the burdens that came with loving a man as thoroughly broken as Tony Stark.

Tony didn't move even after the elevator slid closed on Pepper and it was just the two of them. He just relaxed, boneless and exhausted, and he'd probably be perfectly happy just to pass out right there and sleep for a week.

“Let's get you to bed,” Rhodey suggested. Tony whined softly in protest and didn't move. “Come on, buddy, it's bedtime.”

Tony didn't even bother whining.

“Okay, then,” Rhodey said, standing and stretching. “You asked for it.”

Rhodey had always kept himself in the best shape possible, and Tony had never been that heavy. It wasn't as easy to scoop him up off the couch and into a bridal carry as it used to be, but it still wasn't impossible. It helped that Tony knew how to settle himself in Rhodey's arms without risking being dropped on his ass. Something old and second-nature and comfortable for both of them.

Tony snorted into the blanket, and Rhodey could tell he was smiling.

“What are you laughing at?” Rhodey asked, heading for Tony's private rooms.

“Do you count as a knight in shining armor?”

“Nah, War Machine's got a matte finish.”

Tony laughed outright as Jarvis opened the bedroom door for them. The windows were tinted, blocking out the afternoon, and the lights were dimmed partway. The bed was made for once, if only because the cleaning service had come in at some point during the week and no one had been in here since.

He set Tony down, and Tony wormed under the covers on his own, probably grateful to not be back on the couch in his workshop- a week on that thing must have been murder on his back.

“Stay?” Tony asked, not whispering it, not hiding what he needed for once. Even if he'd been inclined to leave, Rhodey would have melted in the face of that.

“Planned on it, princess,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Tony reached out and Rhodey met him halfway, twining their fingers together, and there was nothing more rewarding than the way Tony rolled onto his side and curled up around Rhodey's hand, not so much as twitching when his knuckles brushed the reactor. He didn't flinch away when Rhodey leaned down and brushed a chaste kiss against his temple, either, and Rhodey was aware of what that meant. How much trust that showed. Even when everyone else who was supposed to have Tony's back betrayed him, his faith in Rhodey remained unshakeable.

Rhodey shifted, sliding under the blankets, and Tony moved into the protective curve of his chest as if there was nothing more natural in the world. Rhodey pulled him close and held him there, felt Tony relax into sleep.

And as long as Tony felt safe, that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of _Reap What You Sow_. I've decided not to write an epilogue, opting instead to give you guys a full-blown sequel. It will be called _Fields of White_ , and you can look forward to it and other stories set in this universe as soon as I give my other fics some much-needed love.
> 
> So hopefully you've enjoyed this story, and I've given you enough to tide you over for now. I've really enjoyed writing it and interacting with all of you. Thanks for your kind comments and the truly overwhelming number of hits, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks you've thrown at me, and I look forward to seeing you again with the next installment. ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is, as always, appreciated.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Green Water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185884) by [Filigree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigree/pseuds/Filigree)
  * [Early Harvest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203070) by [singingwithoutwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingwithoutwords/pseuds/singingwithoutwords)




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